This week in composition class we were asked to write about why we write. Why do I write? I had to take a few minutes to sit down and think, why do I write? I came up with a few thoughts such as, “I love it,” “It’s fun to write,” and “my teacher asks me to.” But the longer I sat there, the more I began to realize it goes deeper than that. It gives me a sense of accomplishment to see an entire page filled with my thoughts and knowledge. It excites me to read through my papers and notice I had been using words I never even knew I had in my vocabulary. Or even just seeing that I used much more extravagant words than I needed to, and yet I never thought twice about placing them there. Sometimes it is just humorous for me to see what I’ve come up with when imitating an author’s style. There are so many reasons I enjoy writing. We were asked to read three essays before writing this, they were “Why I Write” by George Orwell, another “Why I Write” by Joan Didion, and “The Making of a Writer: Listening in the Dark” by Eudora Welty. A choice of wording in George Orwell’s essay mixed with something my teacher said, reminded me that I first began writing because it felt empowering. Almost like somehow what I had to say, and what I had written down would be seen by someone and what I knew would either affect them or teach them in some way, it gave me a feel of importance that many kids lack. Writing also gives me a chance to sort out my thoughts and feelings, and it makes me feel like someone actually listens to what I have to say. I have always been ahead of my peers both mentally and physically, yet at the same time I was very young spirited, I wanted to be a kid, which is why when we weren't schooling, I was placed with children in my age rather than my grade. After we moved though, I was placed with my grade, and had been a thirteen year old hanging out with people who were between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, so I felt as though no one wanted to listen to a little kid. Writing was my way of feeling as though someone was right there listening to me, hanging onto every word, my ideas had been noticed and heard by someone, even if it was just the paper my words latched onto.
So why do I write? In the end it’s because it’s calming and can give me both an escape from everyone, yet allow me to feel noticed or important. I write for me.
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Rebekah W
Here I will blog about the word, and the world we live in. Archives
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